#but also because he needed to uncover more of ancient elves' past (a lot of it lies in modern day tevinter) to counter solas

[c-is-for-circinate]

Ok, if I’m going to keep proper DM records for D&D on this tumblr, I need to actually write them.

Being An Account of Game #1: In Which Several Youth Attend A Party, And Some Experimental Magic Has Less Than Optimal Results

[all game logs thus far]

The Setting:  It is a Thursday night in the city of Karna Vi, called by many the last surviving bastion of the Trava Empire in Highnorth.  In the mostly student-inhabited districts around the University Karnassa, scholars are working, resting, eating, hanging out--and having parties.

More excitingly, there’s a classics major party tonight.  And it’s not just any classics majors.  It’s the self-styled Young Pre-Glorians.  In a society mostly built on a relatively even mix of human, gnome, and dwarf citizens, where humans are the unnecessarily tall people who don’t live nearly long enough to ever get really good at rulership or scholarship (though gods know you won’t find a more versatile, intense group of people in any species you can name), this little cluster of classics majors includes two humans, two tieflings, and a half-orc, all living in one slightly shabby student apartment.  Every single one of them is going to be dead before they’re a hundred.  Every single one of them is obsessed with figuring out how things worked at least 2000-4000 years ago.  And they party like it.

Our NPC hosts for the evening include Peary (a bubblegum-pink tiefling who makes historically accurate bathtub gin, and reconstructs ancient crafting methods from diary fragments and scraps, and den-mothers all the rest of her roommates with constantly chipper affection); Athenasi (or Athen, a human cleric of the Church of Lost Things made entirely out of sticks and paleness, who buries himself in ancient records trying to reconstruct the specific rituals used to properly worship long-mislaid gods); Riva (an enormous half-orc sportsball player and also wizard who mostly only bothers using spells to light his bonfires and translate dead languages, intent on uncovering the distant origins of magic as written ritual); Lisha (a human who got briefly campus-notorious last year when she reconstructed an ancient power-binding ritual well enough to actually summon an archdemon who hasn’t been seen in three millennia and somewhat incidentally get herself warlock powers); and Wren (a dark-skinned, gray-haired tiefling who knows very nearly everything there is to know about the politics and power struggles spanning half a continent and seven centuries, 5,000 years ago, and does not particularly care to know anything else).

These five like hands-on experimentation and practical research.  They’ve thrown historically-accurate parties in celebration of a dozen ancient forgotten holidays, with Peary’s bathtub gin to really make it work.  There’s rumors about an invitational-only orgy last year.  In short, their parties are the place to be if you’re the kind of nerd who likes to study hard and party harder.  Which...does not quite describe our PCs, but it’s a fun party to be at anyway.

Marion the human paladin has spent enough afternoons pouring through ancient records with fellow church acolyte Athen that they can’t really turn down the invite, even if Athen’s insistence on “you need to talk to other live people more than once a week!” is ridiculous and hyperbolic anyway.  Kevin the elf barbarian has been a cornerstone of the University sportsball team for ten years straight, and would never turn down a party invite from a teammate, let alone a party that looks as promising as this one.  Kou the halfling bard, who spends so much time with the music-majors half the university forgets she isn’t one, got invited along with her bard friends to be the entertainment.  

Gnome rogue Reigenleif, of course, is the beer supply.  Reigenleif is always the beer supply.

It’s a Thursday night, and a four-bedroom apartment with attached rooftop deck is crowded full of graduate students eating cheese, drinking a dozen different kinds of alcohol, and arguing about history.  Life is, for the moment, good.

The Hooks:

One by one, each of our PCs--vaguely familiar to one another, in a nodding-acquaintance sort of way, though nothing like the friends they’ll be by the end of the week, let alone the eventual end of this campaign--finds themselves tugged into conversation with an acquaintance.

First (in-game time, though we played these way out of order thanks to a handy d4), before the party even begins, Reigenleif heads down into Old Town to pick up some beer.  It’s one neighborhood over from the district of ancient, pre-Imperial ruins and thousand-year-old buildings where the University and its denizens live, so most students don’t know to come this far for good, cheap beer in the first place.  (Of course, even if they did they wouldn’t know to go where Reigenleif’s going.)

Her destination is a small bakery owned by two dwarven brothers and a sister.  Out the front, they sell excellent bread, with a very nice additional line in cakes and cupcakes.  Out the back, the middle dwarven brother Milosh acts as middle management for a smuggling ring that’s known in the right, quiet corners for its ability to get just about anything for anyone, given the right place.  Reigenleif runs errands on his say-so on weekends, in between avoiding her own research and helping out with everybody else’s.  Buying a few kegs of decent ale that hasn’t been marked up for tax, and then reselling it to thirsty college students, has basically been paying her rent for the past two years.

“How’s the family?” Milosh asks, and, “how’s that school thing going?”

“Eh,” says Reigenleif, and, “school’s school,” and, “parents still want me to go straight,” which isn’t even a pun because every player at the table is so generally disinterested in heteronormativity that it’s too easy to even bother with.

“You know,” Milosh says, “you really want to do more of this and less of that, could be Anna’s got a job for you.”

Anna’s not a real person--she’s been the code name for the leader of the smuggling ring for over a century, and given that her so-called last name literally means ‘human’, probably if there ever was a real Anna Cheloveko, she’s long dead now.  An Anna job might be hard, but it’ll pay, and then some.

The job, Milosh explains, isn’t too complicated.  There’s a certain package that needs to get to the city of Ormiras, and then past Ormiras a week or so’s travel up into the local mountains.  The contents of the package don’t matter, but with the strictures on the large industrial teleportation circles downtown, it’s unlikely to pass through without comment.  A University student, on the other hand, looking to do some research in the library of another University, could use one of their teleportation circles without anybody raising an eyebrow at their research materials, now, couldn’t they?  Grab a few friends to head with you up into the mountains, and when you come back down, there’d definitely be a job waiting--back here in Karna Vi, or with some of Anna’s friends in Ormiras.

(Reigenleif and her player go on a digression about bags of holding, immovable rods, and other magical items attempting to pass through teleportation circles, and then the potential of measuring continental drift with immovable rods over a long enough period of time.  Milosh raises his eyebrows and wonders if maybe Reigenleif should stick with those University-types after all.  This is about to prove extremely indicative of Reigenleif’s entire character.)

With that offer in mind, Reigenleif heads off, six kegs of ale for thirsty college students in hand.  This would be tricky for the average human, let alone a three-foot gnome, but Milosh lets her borrow the Bag of Holding for the job.  It’s no real risk.  He knows where Reigenleif lives.  He knows where her parents live.  She’s good for it.

Second, an hour or two into the swing of the party, Kevin and Riva are out on the roof deck supervising a cluster of increasingly tipsy party guests as they climb onto each others’ shoulders and attempt to joust with a couple of sportsball sticks.  The pair of them are taller than any two gnomes stacked together.  They are taller than nearly any gnome on top of any dwarf here.  They are taller than most double-stacked dwarves.  They make good referees.

They’re cleaning up some good-natured bruises and spilled beer when Kevin’s friend Poppy finds him.  She’s a half-elf, and barely as tall as his bicep.  She has dark curly hair, and smudged-up makeup, and she is already drunk.

“Kevin,” she says.  “Kevin, Kevin, look.  Can I ask you a favor?  Can I beg you a favor?  Please?”

Poppy is in Kevin’s cohort in the art history department--they started with the same incoming class, ten years ago.  You don’t really graduate out of university, in the Nine Cities.  You study until you get hired into a professorship or government position, or you run out of money, take a lesser job, and quit.  Poppy’s dad is an elf, with plenty of resources to throw in her general direction.  She hasn’t run out of money yet.  Ten years is a lot longer for a half-elf like Poppy than it is for Kevin.

Poppy says, “if I don’t do something big, I will never get hired, ever.  I will never amount to anything.”  She says, “I know there are Glorian-era ruins on the Iris Peninsula that haven’t been found.  I know there’s something there.”  She says, “I know there are elven aesthetic motifs in Glorian-era Irissan fragments.  Seven hundred years before elves ever made it to this continent.  If I go, I can prove it.  It will matter.  It will mean something.”

“You grew up on Iris,” she says.  “And you’re good at hitting things.  Right?”

It’s been 512 years since the Elven Ascendancy broke their isolation and sailed forth into the world for the first time in six millennia.  Five centuries since the very first elves set foot on the continent of Nokomoris.  The Glorian Empire conquered half the Iris Peninsula, and was driven out, and collapsed, a thousand years ago.  Not a single soul under Glorian rule had ever even heard of elves.  And sure, elves live on the Iris Peninsula now--in the cities, like proper elves, in shining tall buildings with a lovely background view of the tangled wilderness where they never, ever go.  Elvish art in Glorian-era ruins?  It would upend everything anybody knew about history.  It would be huge.

“It would probably make my parents really happy if I tried to do a big art history thing instead of focusing on sportsball so much,” Kevin muses.  “Sure, I know people.  We can probably put an expedition together.  I bet my parents would be happy with that.”

(Kevin and his player do sound enthusiastic about the idea of getting some good research and publishable papers, which tells this DM a lot I didn’t already know about his priorities.  Sure, he likes sportsball, but getting an actual job in art history would make his parents happy.  Kevin says ‘that would probably make my parents happy’ like it’s the only long-term life goal he’s ever bothered assuming he probably needs.)

Third, Kou and her band take a set break.

Lio’s been switching between singing and rocking out on the zither, because even in a cluster of bards, Lio makes a good frontwoman.  She’s a tall dwarf, dark hair, dark clothes, dark eyeliner, dark everything.  She’s a star in the music department, a cornerstone of student activities committees, a manic pixie overachiever, a goth anarchist who knows exactly what’s wrong with the world today, the artificial urban-wilderness divide that’s been imposed on society in the new century, the problems of traditional religion and modern capitalism.  She’s a level 3 bard.  She’s got a townie boyfriend in one of the local guilds who doesn’t mind when she makes out with boys, girls, and everything else on offer at parties.  She is, without question, the coolest person Kou knows.

Lio is drinking water and also taking a couple of shots of Peary’s bathtub liquor, and Kou is hanging out and watching the party, and Lio sighs.

“You want to get out of here?” she asks.  “Not tonight, I mean--the whole University conspiracy.  Just go.”

“Yes,” Kou says, instantly on board without a single detail.  Her girlfriend has been gone for three weeks.  Her body is ready.  Her entire everything is ready.  “When?  Where’re we going?”

“We could totally make it as bandits out by Zakri,” Lio says.  “You know they’ve been doing all kinds of weird construction stuff along the main road between the two seas, trying to restart the canal project, and the main road’s been in shambles for months.  I have a total plan.  We could camp out along one of the smaller roads and take out caravans, be bandits, live like queens.  It’d be great.”

“Yes,” Kou says again.  “Absolutely.  I’m in.  I know some healing stuff, and I have a pocketknife.  Let’s do it.”

(Kou asks precisely zero questions about where, or how, or why, or even who, for the entire conversation.  I knew this would be the case by halfway through session 0, and I am delighted to be proven right.  Kou is ready for absolutely everything and absolutely nothing.  It’s going to be great.)

“Hmm, but we’d probably need more people,” Lio muses, in that way people do when they remember all the practical reasons they’re mostly joking about quitting their job and running away to live in the woods.  “Unless you know how to use a sword.”

“I know some people!” Kou says.  “Let me see who I can talk to.  We can totally do this.”

Fourth, Athen takes a break from circling around the party with an eye out for any serious injuries or alcohol poisoning risk to find Marion in the kitchen, eating cheese and arguing about historical probability and textual interpretation with Wren.  They’re having just about as much fun as an antisocial math nerd with a special interest in history can have at a party full of academics who also have a special interest in history--which is kind of a lot, come to think of it.

The party is loud and boisterous, so they head to Athen’s tiny closet of a bedroom to chat.  There’s something he needs to talk about, and Marion’s a good enough friend to listen.

“So you’ve been talking about doing some fieldwork,” Athen says.  “Have you thought about going west?”

Athen’s family lives west of Karna Vi, in the wide highland plains of the Highnorth, where there’s nothing for miles but cattle, a few sheep, a lot of rye and oats, and the occasional potato field.  In his grandfather’s day, they were part of the Trava Empire, and that was fine.  Theoretically their village doesn’t belong to anyone but themselves, now, and they farm as best they can, and sell what surplus they can at the closest big trade-town to someone who carts it into Karna Vi and sells it to city bakers and and housewives and leatherworkers, and it’s fine too, mostly, except for when it’s not.

Lately it’s not, so much.  The Uvencatra Empire in the western mountains has been making some motions towards marching eastward across the plains, and they’re eyeing the region Athen’s family is from next.  He’s concerned.  He’s really concerned.  He’s maybe about to drop out of school concerned.

“You know how to fight things,” Athen says.  “And maybe you’d find things over there, in the Western Orthodox church records.  I can go home and help heal people, but I don’t know how to protect them.”

“Oh, I am not the right member of my family for this,” Marion frets, and Athen frowns.

“Would any of the rest of them care?” he asks.

“Point,” Marion agrees.

(They’ve got a quiet monotone the whole time, slow to assemble sentences except when they start contemplating the actual possibilities of research within the Uvencatra Orthodox churches, spilling out hypotheses and jargon like water.  Marion’s player has degrees in anthropology.  Marion cares about Athen’s problems, but has no real thoughts about them.  Marion has thoughts about historical research.)

“Let me think about it,” Marion says, and the party goes on.

The Fight

By dawn, most of the party has cleared out, though not quite all of it.  A couple of failed Con saves mean that Kou is dozing in a chair in the living room, not quite with it enough to notice the rest of the band leaving, and Marion is passed out cold in Athen’s bed alone.  Reigenleif has spent most of the party hanging off to the side, watching people and occasionally scooping up anything that appears to maybe be a weapon that’s been carelessly left sitting around, tucking it into the Bag of Holding just to make sure this party doesn’t go sideways in a nasty way; she can’t leave until the kegs are given back over into her keeping, so she might as well help clean up.

Kevin, out on the deck, has not actually realized the party has ended yet.  He’s only just beginning to notice the lack of people as the first rays of sunlight creep over the city, and a very loud bang sounds from the top of the roof.

It jolts Kou dozily awake and Marion tumbles onto the floor in an instant.  Kevin and Reigenleif, already outside along with Riva, look up just in time to see the outlines of Wren and Lisha on the roof in the pale morning sun, alongside some billowing smoke and two cat-sized things skittering along the roof tiles in acid green.

Then Wren falls off the roof to the deck and takes so much damage in a ten-foot fall that her scrawny little NPC self ends up unconscious.  Then combat begins.

There’s a flutter and a flurry as the quasits on the roof hiss at everyone and skitter away.  Initiative is nobody’s friend, and fighting something ten feet above everyone’s head isn’t easy, but Reigenleif upends her entire bag of holding and sends a pile of belt knives, a couple of blunt-ended reproduction historical weapons, and a fancy letter opener skittering out over the desk, and hides behind a convenient barrel.  Riva grabs a sportsball stick.  Kou has enough movement to rush out onto the deck just in time to see Lisha fall; “Oh, fuck!” is now the official incantation for her Healing Word, and Wren is safe, although not very happy.

Kevin tries to intimidate the quasits, all six-foot-seven of burly elf growling directly at them, and it actually works on one.  The intimidated quasit instantly turns into a bat and swoops off through an open window into the living room to Get Away.  The other quasit, annoyed at the attempt, casts Fear on Kevin in retaliation.  It is super effective.

Marion makes it out to the living room, wearing no armor but carrying the heaviest candlestick she could grab, just in time to see an acid-green bat swoop through the window and start destroying things.  It’s very early and she is probably slightly hungover but also she’s a good researcher and knows what a quasit looks like, so she whacks it.  It bites her, poison and all--make that definitely pretty hungover.

Athen made it outside around the same time as Kou, and has been trying to heal people who need it as Riva tries to whack at a tiny demon on his roof, Kevin attempts to cower behind a gnome, and Reigenleif and Kou both throw things.  Kevin succeeds in a wisdom save after another round or two, and manages to do some good thwacking damage.  The quasit turns into a foot-long centipede in an attempt to escape, and skitters along the wall through the door into the house, before Kou Cutting Words’s it to death.

Lisha tries to jump off the roof to get down and help, and sprains her ankle.  Athen is already inside giving Marion a hand, and none of the PCs seem inclined to help.

Between Marion and Athen, the second quasit goes down relatively quickly.  The first one has already disappeared into nothingness, and the second one follows soon behind.  Marion lay-on-hands’es themself, and drinks some water, because they have utterly forgotten that quasits have venom at all and damn, this hangover.  The nauseous feeling passes after a minute or so, anyway.  Athen goes outside to heal Lisha, Peary appears from her own room wanting to know what the hell is going on out here, Kou is jumping between ‘I insulted it and it died and I’m real cool!’ and, ‘did my entire band just ditch me here because I fell asleep?’, and everything is equally as chaotic as it was in the middle of the fight, when the knock sounds on the door.

The Head of Campus Housing brought security with him, and he’s not happy.

The Aftermath

Marion pulls rank and some excellent persuasion checks to keep the entire set of Young Pre-Glorians from getting evicted right now, and everybody else in the room from being put on housing probation.  Marion lives with their parents on the other side of the city, or, more accurately, in the library--housing probation doesn’t mean much to them, but it does matter to everyone else.

Lisha, apparently, was attempting to use the limnal nature of sunrise, sitting over a party that both was and was not a party any longer, with people below who were drunk, and dreaming, and no longer drunk, on a day of particular celestial configuration, to do some magic experimentation, because obviously.  Wren wanted a familiar.  Lisha could totally use a ritualistic setup to cast a spell she isn’t high enough level for and doesn’t actually know, and also alter it to bind to somebody that isn’t even her, and make it work.  Maybe not today, but probably next time, right?

The PC’s are somewhat annoyed with Lisha, but also agree that the university just does not have enough ritual magic experimentation labs, and that really needs to be corrected.  They also figure that, housing probation or no, it’s maybe not a bad time to get out of town for a bit.  They’re good at fighting things together!  They’ve got some options!

They toss some ideas around--Kou’s option involves banditry, and Marion’s pretty sure they’re not allowed to do that, but Reigenleif’s has, like, three weeks in the mountains, and that sounds pretty awful too.  Athen and Poppy both need help, and they’re both friends--Kou doesn’t care where they go, and Reigenleif is up for whatever sounds interesting.  Poppy’s research trip sounds like a good way to make the university like them, which after this display might be particularly useful.

In the end, the decision comes down to Marion, who’s happy to help people but is mostly only considering either of these treks as a road to more god-research, to help define the variables to determine the maximum number of gods the Church of Lost Things still has to discover.  There’s a western orthodox church in the Uvencatra Empire, out past where Athen’s family lives, and they could have all sorts of records and knowledge that Marion doesn’t...but nobody knows what the hell is going on in the Iris Peninsula.  The entire place is apparently a forest, and that means people don’t travel it much for some reason?  It’s all sort of unclear and difficult to understand from this side of the continent.  So what the heck, Poppy’s thing it is.

Poppy is somewhat taken aback to be woken up slightly hungover at 10 AM by Kevin and also a random human knocking on her dorm room door to tell her that yes, they and two other people she’s never met are in for her expedition, and also can they leave tomorrow please?  But also sure.  Why not.  These things happen when you ask Kevin for help.  She’ll talk to her advisor to push those expedition grant funds through, and they’ll leave on Monday.  Maybe let’s have lunch or dinner this afternoon?  After Kevin and Marion sleep?

Reigenleif, meanwhile, takes Kou along to return the bag of holding and empty kegs to Milosh, in the hopes that having a highly charismatic good-persuasion bard along might just increase their chances of persuading Milosh to let them keep the Bag of Holding for this journey.  Little does she know that, while Kou is fun and delightful and good at persuasion, she’s also an awkward flailer who doesn’t entirely understand what they’re supposed to be convincing Milosh of in the first place, and has no proficiency in deception whatsoever.

The conversation stumbles and bobbles a bit, before Reigenleaf gets to the meat of the situation: they’re not going to Ormiras, but does Anna maybe need something delivered or picked up from another of the Nine Cities?  Perhaps something on Iris?  Like, say...

“Cloud Bay,” Reigenleif says, naming the only city on the Iris Peninsula she can remember at 7 AM on zero sleep, which is unfortunately not the same one Poppy mentioned to Kevin earlier.

“Cloud Bay?” Milosh says.  “Shitty weather and elves?  What’re you going there for?”

In an attempt to leverage her higher Deception score over Persuasion, Reigenleif starts to spin a relatively believable lie about engineering research and her own degree work.  Unfortunately, she doesn’t roll particularly well.  More fortunately, or perhaps more unfortunately still, Milosh doesn’t actually care ‘why Cloud Bay’, aside from as a rhetorical question, so it’s not particularly useful in any case.

“Look,” Milosh says.  “Let me talk to Anna about Cloud Bay.  Check back in tomorrow or Sunday, maybe we have a job for you there, maybe not.  A’right?”

They snag a couple of muffins on the way out.  Kou feels a little useless, but so be it.  Marion crashes in Kevin’s room, since he just needs a corner to meditate in anyway, and everyone naps until the meet-with-Poppy time in the evening.

The Campaign Plan

Poppy is just a little taken aback at the new crew she seems to’ve acquired, but she’s ready to go and they’re game, so, sure.  Let’s do this.

She elaborates a little on what she told Kevin, in some angles, and says less in others.  The Glorian Empire, as some of the party know better than others, stretched out from here in Karna Vi across most of the Attiks Sea and around the continent.  They sped the civilization in the Midlands, they spread the Eight Churches throughout the continent, they founded cities, they built roads.  They founded Port Charé on the coast of the heavily-forested Iris Peninsula and began to build in, cutting trees and building roads and forts and towns as they went.  Kera the Conqueror, famed emperor, oversaw the expansion across easily half of Iris, naming literally everything after himself as he went.

Iris was hard to conquer, and the Empire began to pull out not long after Kera died.  They left ruins and roads, and the people of Port Charé, who’d lived in this city for two centuries at this point and were not about to move back to the other side of the sea, even if this was going to be the only bastion of civilization for a thousand miles.  There was a working road to Ormiras.  They’d manage.

As for those ruins, deep into Iris--who knows what’s there?

Sober and in front of three strangers, Poppy doesn’t say anything about pre-Elven Incursion elven aesthetics.  It doesn’t really matter, because Kevin told everybody everything, but some things are just too historically improbable to admit you believe.

“So,” says Poppy.  “Are you in?  I can get grant funds and our travel paperwork Monday morning.  We circle into Port Charé and follow the roads as far as they go.  I have an old map, Imperial-era.  We can find things nobody’s seen in hundreds of years.”

The party doesn’t need to ask each other.  They’re in.  They all know they’re in.

Six months on an archaeological expedition in a forest for four city kids, three of whom have never seen anything more than a single ten-acre orchard in their lives?

Oh yeah.  Total piece of cake.

[chaotic-good-hawke]

Scavenger Hunt, 2486 words

This is a (belated) birthday gift for the lovely and talented, @mocha-writes​! Featuring her OC, Solomon Trevelyan, and my own two OCs, Hela Lavellan and Ronan Trevelyan. I wasn’t planning for it to be so long, but I got a little carried away...anyways, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOCHA!!!!

**

Hela and Sera had gotten up very early that morning, before the sun rose. The air was crisp and brisk, the autumn winds cold off the snowy mountains.

Together they had managed to sneak into the Solomon’s quarters, planting a letter beside his bed, before hurrying away.

They couldn’t wait for him to open it.

The first clue to their scavenger hunt.

**

It took much longer than they had hoped, waiting for the sun to rise, meeting up with Ronan and checking that everything was in place, running here and there putting the finishing touches on things. It had to be perfect.

Hela and Sera currently hid behind Varric’s table in the great hall, mostly whispering as they waited for the Inquisitor to descend. It was hard to keep quiet, since boredom was instigating tickles and jabs. Their elf ears twitched when they heard the tell-tale creak of the door at the end of the hall. Peeking over the table, they saw the inquisitor approach the throne, twining a multi-colored scarf around his neck.

He had found the first surprise, obviously. Cole had not really hidden it so much as draped it across the door into the great hall, with the second clue tucked underneath it. It was made from scraps, a thing made from cast-offs, but lovely sewn together by the spirit boy. Cole had a matching one himself. He had said it was to keep the inquisitor warm.

They watched as Solomon found the basket behind the judgement seat, inside, Hela knew, was a book of romantic poetry, scandalous for its positive portrayal of elves and elven/human relationships. Ronan had looked hard for a copy, Cass finally pointing him to a dealer in rare books, that she blushed when asked teasingly why she knew the person sold near-banned romantic texts.

Solomon paused against the chair, adjusting his glasses, reading the third clue left with the book. His face held an air of concentration, but also surprise, perhaps bewilderment even.

“Y’think he needs a hint?” Sera whispered.

“Shh!” Hela replied, “Give him a minute.” Her tone was teasing, ears flicking in her excitement.

They didn’t have to wait long for the inquisitor to nod to himself and head for the door to the undercroft. So far so good.

**

The Inquisitor was gone long enough for Sera and Hela to relocate to behind the door to Josephine’s office. They were lucky it was still early and the hall wasn’t full up with dignitaries and ambassadors, so peering out into the hall they were able to see Solomon enter again, this time with a large purple silken handkerchief tied around the handle of the basket. Sera had embroidered it with little yellow bees, naturally exploding from a bee bomb. She had sworn a lot when she sewed it, pricking her fingers more often than not, but Hela had encouraged her and she was determined to finish it for Solomon.  

Solomon next wandered over to Varric’s hearth, easily finding a tome on archaic magic that Solas had found hidden away in the old library downstairs. It was leather-bound and pages were illuminated with diagrams and illustrations. It was a bit dense for Hela’s taste, but it was just the kind of thing the Hahren would like. The two tricksters watched him set it in the basket and pick up the next note. He read quickly and thoughtfully, sure steps leading him through another door down to the kitchens.

“See, he’s got this.” Hela said, standing up and stepping into the hall.

“Hope he likes the cookies.” Sera said. They had baked cookies last night, which he would find waiting for him in the kitchen. The ones they had made should be edible, which hey, it was only the third batch they had made together. And well, if they weren’t, they could work as impromptu projectiles, so win-win.

“Come on, let’s go let Ronan know it’s his turn.”

“Race you!” Sera said, speeding off towards the library, Hela laughing to catch up to her. It was going perfectly.

**

Ronan heard them before he saw them, spying the two rambunctious elves at the bottom of the rotunda, cackling and pushing each other. Hela gave him a salute and whistle, before pulling Sera out again, stumbling back in a rush.

Taking his cue, he exited to the balcony on the third floor, getting a view of the lower courtyard and stables.  If everything went as planned, Solomon would be emerging there in a few minutes.

As the wind ruffles his hair, he used a spell to warm his hands and considered what brought them here. It had been chance that had them all back at Skyhold. When Hela and Ronan had realized what day it would be, they had plotted together, recruiting other around Skyhold to their shenanigans.

And it was working, as he saw Solomon below. His cousin, however distant. Besides his grandmother, Solomon was about the only Trevelyan that Ronan would claim as kin. He was a good man.

Solomon made it to the stables, hidden from view, but Ronan had little doubt that he would find the carved owl paperweight that Warden Blackwall had carved. He had painted it white, with delicate plumage outlined and bright violet eyes. The burly man was surprisingly talented, a deft hand at crafts.

Ronan tapped his fingers against the stone, a smile on his face. He had found much here with the Inquisition. Freedom, friends, something to believe in.

His thoughts must have wandered farther and longer than he realized, for Solomon had slipped past his notice and was in the library, finding the gift wrapped in the seat he usually sat in when reading there.

Hela had sneaked a peak at what Leliana had gotten him. She was surprised, for they were a set of small elven ear cuffs, pointed and delicate, simple, yet elegant in design. Small enough to hide under long hair, as the inquisitor was wont to do with his ears, if he chose to. Hela wouldn’t tell him what the personal note said, uncharacteristically tightlipped about it, simply saying it was what the hahren needed to hear.

As soon as Solomon left the library, Ronan booked it down the stairs, entering the great hall, but sliding along the wall so that the inquisitor couldn’t see him. He was in Vivienne’s alcove, surely finding the new traveling alchemical set that she had imported specially for him. Practical, a shared interest. It was expensive, but Vivienne had waved away the cost, saying a favor was owed her.

Ronan barely managed to reach the large doors when Solomon descended, crossing to Josephine’s office.

In the War Room, set on the map, he would find a book of artistic landscape etchings from across Thedas. Ronan knew how much his cousin loved the scenery of Thedas, loved travelling and exploring. He hoped that he would enjoy have a stand-in for when he was stuck at Skyhold or at noble functions.

Ronan moved to shadow Solomon when he left, albeit with only a little success. The mage was not known for being stealthy. However, he was able to witness the inquisitor find the mug of hot chocolate from The Iron Bull, left at the bar with Cabot and kept warm with a minor spell from Hela. It also included a note that the man could raid Bull’s stash whenever he needed, a generous offer from the qunari, given his love of the stuff.  

He couldn’t quite see Solomon uncover the bundle left by Hela in the place Cole usually frequented, but since he headed out the door towards the mage tower, he must have found it. Hela had it made special, had her cousin Fenrir send it from her clan in the Free Marches. From her stories, Ronan wasn’t sure what to really expect from the clan. They were either the friendliest and smartest Dalish in all the world or the strongest and most likely to roast a lone human over a spit…most terrifying was the possibility that it was both. It was difficult at times to shift truth from fiction and exaggeration around the elf.

But anyways, she had requested and received a Dalish hair comb, carved with a Halla and an Elvhen blessing. And, because she felt that was not enough, she also scaled the apple tree in the garden this morning to pick a half dozen of the best ones she could find. More like used it as an excuse to climb the tree, but the sentiment was there.

The final gift, left in the mage tower, was a set of vanilla scented candles and bath salts from the Lady Josephine. She had noticed that the inquisitor enjoyed the scent, as the gifted woman noticed many things. But most importantly, the final gift included a map drawn by Hela and Sera that showed a path from the tower to the garden.

With Solomon now headed for the final gift and clue, it was time for Ronan to meet up with Hela and Sera. They wanted to see his reaction to the final surprise.

Ronan smiled broadly to himself. He hoped his cousin enjoyed it.

**

Dorian sat in the garden, in the shade of the gazebo, the chess board moved there, out from the sun. He had been there for most of the morning, Ronan escorting him to the place and showing him what they had set up. About ten minutes ago, Hela and Sera had arrived with food and drink, setting it up…artfully before running off, Hela blowing a kiss towards him as they ran.

The garden was still warm, even in the Autumn morning. There was some ancient enchantment that would likely keep it so year round, a subject that Solomon, Solas, and he had discussed in depth several months ago.  

Dorian fidgeted, the waiting agitating him. He hoped that Solomon appreciated what they did. When he was first approached about this whole convoluted endeavor, he was hesitant, not sure if it was something Solomon would truly enjoy, but Hela, and to some extent, Ronan, had convinced him. And he had to say, the gifts were well chosen.

He hoped Solomon didn’t notice how crowded the great hall was going to be, when he passed through. They had arranged to empty the gardens for the morning and afternoon, giving them privacy, so many more would be lingering inside.  

Dorian straightened his outfit again, checking that his hair was still in order, that a stray wind hadn’t upset it. He wanted to provide the best picture for his Amatus.

And he was his amatus. That tall, gangly man. Learned, intelligent, a secret sense of humor, an understanding that he loved. And it was no easy thing to think of it as love. It wasn’t something Dorian had thought to have, truly have. And it was still a new thing, really…

Dorian’s thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, loud in the peaceful courtyard, which heralded the arrival of his love. Solomon stepped into the garden, squinting through his glasses slightly in the sunlight, as he was wont to do. His long white hair was pulled back, but it shone in the sun. Dorian thought it beautiful, as he found many things about the inquisitor.

Finally adjusted to the light, Solomon saw him and walked over, a brimming basket of things held in his arm. He had found them all, of course.

“Amatus! What a surprise to see you!” Dorian exclaimed, a wide smile forming freely on his face. Solomon raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really? I was given a map with a very explicit path marked to this location, with hearts drawn around the destination.” Solomon had a small grin at least.

“Ah, that would be Sera’s work, or Hela’s, perhaps both.” Dorian amended. “But, you have found me, just in time for lunch.” Dorian swept his arm out to the array of foods, a carefully selected offering of several of their favorite foods. “And you have found all the clues, well done, Amatus. Please, have a seat.”

Solomon looked hesitant then. “This was really too much.” He lifted the basket. “I hardly deserve this effort. The time alone and the cost of some of these gifts…”

“Nonsense! This is entirely what you deserve!” Dorian exclaimed. Apparently loud enough that the until then hidden trio of Ronan, Hela, and Sera, from their place on the balcony above, could hear.

“You deserve it all, Hahren!” Hela yelled, before Ronan could clap his hand over her mouth. Solomon turned quickly to look up at them, while Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Oy, you do!” Sera added, causing Ronan to elbow her as he was wrangling Hela. The display above was a comedy of sorts, before Ronan managed to shove them towards the door, the pair of elves cackling all the way. They all waved, before slipping from sight.

Dorian sighed. “We should actually be alone now.”

“I deduce that they were the primary parties responsible for this?”

“Yes. When they heard it was going to be your birthday, they wanted to do something about it. They did manage to throw it together rather quickly.” Dorian said.

“Yes, they must have. I would assume they found out the information from the ambassador?”

“The spymaster, actually.” Dorian said. “I believe she let it slip to Ronan. And then once Hela found out, the plan was in motion.”

“I cannot believe you all went to this trouble over me.” Solomon said, he opened his mouth to continue, to likely say how he didn’t deserve it, to put himself down again. Well, Dorian wouldn’t give him the chance.

“We were all eager to do so, Solomon. We care about you. No one was pressured to do anything. And really, it is what you deserve, and I won’t hear another word about how much you don’t deserve the things or the effort or the care. We would be frightfully offended if you refused any of the gifts.”

“I…thank you.” He was blushing, breaking eye contact, showing that he really was embarrassed, but taking a seat across from Dorian. “I should thank the others.”

“There is time for that later, Solomon.” Dorian set his hand lightly on Solomon’s. “Their will be a gathering later at the tavern, if you wish to join it. Hela described it as either a chance to toast the success of our endeavor or drown our collective sorrows if it failed. But, we have the garden to ourselves for now. Leliana and Josephine have cleared your schedule, we have food, a chess board, and all the time in the world.” Dorian ran his thumb over his love’s knuckles. “Happy Birthday, Amatus.”

Solomon met his eyes again, a hint of tears forming, a humble smile on his face. Dorian smiled at him, before leaning back. “Now, I believe it is your move.”    

[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

Pandaren: A Character Guide

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History

Evolution (Year -15,000): The first pandaren settle in the Vale of Blossoms in Pandaria. While their origins aren’t exactly known, Brann Bronzebeard theorises that they descended from an unknown Ancient Guardian. The mogu are simultaneously effected by the Curse of Flesh and they begin fighting in the Age of a Hundred Kings. Lei Shen siezes power from Highkeeper Ra and enslaves the lesser races, including the pandaren.

A Revolutionary Feat (Year -12,000): Pandarens were forbidden to use weapons by their mogu overlords. However, pandaren Kang attuned his body into a fine weapon and became the first ever monk. After teaching his practice, the pandaren rise up and end their slavery, beginning the Pandaren Empire.

Zandalari Calling (Year -11,900): Allies of the mogu, the Zandalari trolls, try to obtain a plot of land in Pandaria that was promised to them before the mogu’s fall. The Order of the Cloud Serpent is formed by Jiang and they are defeated.

The Mists Surround You (Year -10,000):  Emperor Shaohao, the last pandaren Emperor, is told of the coming Legion invasion. To protect the land, he hides the land in a thick mist. However, he also stripped himself of negative emotions to do this, creating the Shas of Anger, Violence, Hatred, Doubt, Fear, Despair and Pride and burying them beneath the earth. Pandarens are taught to control their emotions to avoid releasing the Sha. 

A Curious Bunch (Year -800): Liu Lang refuses to believe that The Sundering destroyed the rest of the world and uses Shen-zin Su, a turtle, to ride to other lands. He comes back every five years to collect more pandarens who wish to travel. Eventually, Shen-zin becomes big enough for them to build a permanent settlement upon him and is known as The Wandering Isle.

Along The Way (Year 22):  Chen Stormstout travels to Durotar and encounters Rexxar who aids him by gathering ingredients for his brew.

The Veil Lifts (Year 26): The Shattering causes some of the mists to become disrupted and vanish. Both Horde and Alliance discover the new continent and it is charted, although the war takes them in a different direction.

Strange New Friends (Year 30): The Skybreaker crashes onto the Wandering Isle and pandarens aid both Alliance and Horde. The Wandering Isle pandarens are split into two groups: Tushui (Alliance) and Huojin (Horde) and venture to their new capitals to teach their allies the way of the monk. Pandaria is effectively later rediscovered by the factions and becomes the staging ground of the war not knowing that strong emotions can evoke the sha in Pandria and cause havoc with the continent. Taran Zhu is frustrated by the impact they are having on the lands. However, the factions earn their favour by helping them against the local threats of the mogu and the mantids. The Zandalari once again ally with a revived Lei Shen, leading to a full on assault on the Isle of Thunder and ending the threat of the Thunder King once again. The Horde uncover the Heart of Y’Shaarj and Garrosh Hellscream uses the Pools of Power to revive it, destroying half of the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. A siege of Orgrimmar takes place to dethrone Garrosh by both Horde and Alliance and he is taken to Pandaria for trial.

War Criminal (Year 31): Garrosh is taken to Temple of the White Tiger to be tried for his crimes. He escapes with the help of the Infinite Dragonflight via Bronze dragon Kairozdormu who takes him to an alternate version of Draenor 35 years in the past. After a lengthy war against his own formed Iron Horde, he is defeated by Thrall.

Many A Demon (Year 32): Demons attack their monastery at the Peak of Serenity and survivors regroup on the Wandering Isle to form the Order of the Broken Temple.

Physical traits

Life expectancy: Pandarens can live up to 100 years old, but are considered old around 60-70.

Height: Male pandarens can be up to 7.5 feet tall, whereas females tend to be around 7.

Eye colour: Pandarens can have an assortment of eye colours from brown, blue and green.

Cosmetics: They are covered in thick fur that has different variation in markings. Their fur can also be either black and white, brown and white and red and white. Female red and white pandaren can have longer, bushy tails rather than stubby black ones.

Personality traits

Zen of Mind: Because of the nature of Pandaria, pandarens have learned to control their strong emotions with meditation to prevent negative Sha from escaping. This means that they tend to be very balanced in their perspectives and rational in their thoughts.

Wonderlust: Those on the Wandering Isle have very adventurous hearts and aren’t content unless they are exploring. 

Other races: Pandaren have a long history with the night elves: even trading with them before the Sundering. However, the pandarens grew wary of their ever frequent use of arcane magic. They presented them a gift before severing their ties with them. Once the gift was opened, it was found to be empty: symbolising that the arcane magic was nothing and not needed, warning them of its power. It’s likely that since the night elves have reformed and reject reckless use of the power that they have good relations for those within the Alliance. Due to their desire to travel and learn, it can be assumed that both Tushui and Huojin pandarens assimilate well with their respective allied races.

Other creatures: Pandarens enjoy to use two mounts: dragon turtles for their strength and steadiness, and cloud serpents for their grace and speed.

Culture

Languages: They speak the main language of Pandaria which is Mogu, but Alliance pandaren will most likely learn Common and Horde Orcish.

Government: Originally ruled under a slave basis to the mogu, the first official leader of the pandaren was mogu Emperor Lei Shen, who was eventually killed by brave monks during their revolution. This tyranny was followed by the Pandaren Empire, ruled by pandaren, hozen and jinyu alike. The first recorded pandaren emperor was Shu Blindeye, followed (though not directly) by Ku. Shaohao was the last Emperor. Rikktik is hard to place in the line, and could possibly have ruled under hozen and pandaren alike, whereas Rassharom was said to have ruled a jinyu empire before the enslavement of the races. Currently the follow their respective faction leaders: the Tushui led by Aysa Cloudsinger and Houjin led by Ji Firepaw.

Military: Founded by Shaohao around Year -10,000, just before the Sundering, the Shado-Pan are an elite force of monks dedicated to protecting Pandaria, currently led by Taran Zhu with at least five other secondary leaders ( Master Wan Snowdrift, Hawkmaster Nurong, Yalia Sagewhisper, Taoshi and Ban Bearheart). The Order of the Cloud Serpent, founded by Jiang in Year -11,900, are a force of riders who protect the Jade Forest, led by Elder Anli in the current day. Lastly, the Golden Lotus are handpicked by the August Celestials to guard the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. They were led Zhi the Harmonious until his death in the war against the mogu.

Religion: When the pandaren first settled, they came across four Wild Gods they called the August Celestials: Chi-Ji the Red Crane, Niuzao the Black Ox, Xuen the White Tiger and Yu'lon the Jade Serpent. Although Lei Shen outlawed the worship or communion with them during his rule, severing most of their ties, but few brave pandaren defied this.

Traditions

Death, while not joyous, is an accepted fact of life among pandaren, and approach the concept as they age as a part of life.

A traditional pandaren funeral ceremony involves the lighting of the "Incense of Life", which smells nice as well as holding restorative properties and can aid in plant growth.

Pandaren are an ancient race and therefore pass along a lot of old knowledge in the forms of proverbs. An example of one is: “fear is not a criminal we must lock away. It is a teacher we must seek to understand”.

Pandarens love games and even have one known as Jihui that is designed to allow both players to win.

[wyrdsistersofthedas]

"Forbidden" Lore, “Forgotten” Questions, Part 1

Thesis: The Forbidden Ones and the Forgotten Ones are two distinct groups with different goals and means of pursuing them in ancient Elvhenan.  Although their paths may well have crossed with dramatic consequences, careful readings of the source materials suggest that ancient elves, especially the Evanuris, considered them to be different in purpose and nature.

Premise: The Forbidden Ones are spirits/demons who can take on physical, tangible forms, but who’ve never forgot that they are spirits/demons or chose to present themselves as mortal beings.  They may try “blend in” with the various cultures in Thedas in order to “feed”, but they always knew that they were beings from the Fade.  

Conjecture: The Forgotten Ones were elves who knew that the Evanuris were not gods, but mages whose great power came from the hearts of Titans.  This knowledge led the Forgotten Ones to “dwell” in the Abyss searching for power that would make them the equals of the elvhen gods even while denying their divinity.  Fearing that the elven people would learn the truth and that their power would be undermined, the Evanuris called the Forgotten Ones “dark gods” to explain their power, but eventually waged a war against them that threatened to destroy Elvhenan.  

That’s a lot to parse, but that’s what makes it fun!  This will probably end up being two posts since I can be relied on to overthink the shit out of all this!

“Forbidden” Knowledge

The nature of the Forbidden Ones isn’t really much of a question at this point, given that we have met three of them, but it is worth examining who they are in order to compare and contrast that information with what we know about the Forgotten Ones.  Plus, I get to talk about Imshael.

Michel looked at the man, and at the circle of stones.  “You’re a demon.”

“Spirit,” the man said, smiling broadly.  “Please, call me Imshael.”

....”I’ve heard of things like you,” Michel said, trying to remember the old stories.  “You’re a desire demon.”

“Choice. Spirit.”  Imshael’s smile never wavered.  “Do I look like a desire demon?  Do you want me to strip down and put on something filmy and sheer?”  At Michel’s glare, the demon sighed.  “There are all kinds of spirits, boy.  Spirits of love, and honor, and valor, and justice...”  He waved a hand absently, turning to pace along the edge of the circle.  “And yes, also rage, and hunger, and pride.  We all carry some connection to this world to bring us through the Veil.”  (The Masked Empire, pgs. 225-226) 

Delightful, isn’t he?  The few scenes he’s in are some of the most...flavorful in The Masked Empire.  They are also very informative.  They give us insights into to why even powerful beings, like the Evanuris, thought that Imshael, Gaxkang, Xebenkeck, and the Formless One were dangerous.   Here’s a list of what we’ve seen all or some of them do:

The Forbidden Ones not only fed on complex mortal emotions/behaviors, but they are capable of arranging situations that test the limits of the people they encounter.

They also have knowledge beyond the reach of the average spirit/demon, which they likely gained in part due to their great age, but also because they have abilities no other spirits seem to have mastered (Except perhaps the Evanuris, if Decima’s theory about the origin of the elves proves true).  Some of their “forbidden” knowledge likely includes:

They totally have dirt on the Evanuris.  They appear to have been allies at one time and there’s nothing like former “friends” to know what was going on behind the scenes.

Being so long lived, it is possible that they have knowledge of other major players in Thedas history, especially since Gaxkang and Xebenkeck seem to have been summoned across the Veil hundreds of years ago, possibly in Tevinter and Kirkwall respectively. (Am I the only one who thinks that Tarohne’s declarations about the Maker being a hoax and being Andraste deluded might be linked to Xebenkeck?  Probably.)

The “secrets” of blood magic

Knowledge of the inner workings of the eluvian network and the ability to manipulate eluvians to some degree

How to “cultivate” red lyrium as well as how to “cure” someone infected with it

Knowledge about the Titans and their abilities since they seem to have abandoned their elven allies to “flee where the Earth could not reach”

Their accumulated knowledge has led to them being sought out by various groups and individuals through the ages in order to learn what the Forbidden Ones know, which allows them to them be summoned across the Veil at various times in Thedas’ past.

Their only loyalty seems to be to themselves (although they seem to have some comradery with each other given that Imshael calls out to Gaxkang and Xebenkeck when his ass is being handed to him in battle).

Although they have a preferred manner of fulling their purpose/feeding, they may be able to transform themselves into various types of demons to fight more effectively

They can take on a physical, tangible form without it “sticking” to their spirit essence (unlike Cole)

Let’s focus on this last detail for just a minute longer.  Imshael forms, reforms, and shucks off his body several times over the course of a few days in the Masked Empire, adapting his ‘essence’ to whatever his current situation calls for with no seeming cost to him mentally or physically. Examples:

While he is trapped in the elgan’arla he has shape, but no substance:

The demon left no prints in the grass where he walked.  His black coat was finely tailored, and the buckles of his black boots glittered. (The Masked Empire, pg. 225)

Once the elgan’arla is destroyed, he has shape and substance:

And with a tiny roll of thunder, the light faded, and Imshael stood up.   The grass were he had knelt showed footprints.  (The Masked Empire, pg. 259)

In pure spirit form, he has no shape or substance:

Celene looked at Mihris in disgust.  “Possessed by a demon?”

“Spirit,” Mihris corrected, and then caught herself and chuckled.  When she spoke again, her voice had deepened to that of the man who’d stood in the circle.  “Ah, pity.  You’re a bit more cunning than you look.”.....

Then light flared around Mihris, and she fell to her knees, her staff flickering back to icy white.  For a moment, a smoky shape flickered around Mihris, a haze that clung to her body, and then it was shooting across the room through one of the mirrors on the wall.  (The Masked Empire, pg. 355)

Imshael flicks from a visible, but not tangible, human like form to a corporeal being back to a nebulous spirit as if it was nothing.  And it is likely that all the Forbidden Ones could do the same in the days of Arlathan, given the warning found in the Vir Dirthara.  This is no small feat!  Even special spirits like Cole, Justice, and Wynne’s spirit of Faith can’t do this with such ease.  

These abilities would undoubtedly cause people, even elves living in a pre-Veil Thedas, to be afraid or at least extremely wary.   Felessan, an ancient elf with considerable magical abilities who was a close companion of Fen’Harel, recognizes Imshael immediately and Imshael likewise knows Felassan.  They even seem friendly to a point, but Felessan tells Empress Celene what he believes will happen to their merry band if they antagonize Imshael too much:

“Go after him.  See how that works out for you.”  At Celene’s glare, he sighed.  “If we harassed him, he would see which of us made the most noise when our skin was ripped off.” (The Masked Empire, pg. 260)

Considering Imshael was going off at that very moment to massacre an entire Dalish clan just because they had summoned and annoyed him, Felessan wasn’t exaggerating.  If the other Forbidden Ones had the same abilities, they would have been special snowflakes indeed!

Forbidden Truth?

But for all of this power and knowledge, the Forbidden Ones never do one important thing: They never claim to be gods.  The openly declare themselves to be spirits. Take this passage from World of Thedas 2 in which Imshael...plays with his food while explaining why he thinks “demon” is an unfair word:

Lots of fascinating details in this piece, but some stand out parts for the lore in this meta:  

In Inquisition, The Masked Empire, and this short story, Imshael is obsessive about people getting his purpose and nature right.  Call him a demon and he will always respond that he is a spirit.  It is also worth noting that he refers to himself as “one of the Forbidden Ones.”  Imshael revels in that title, in fact.  If someone were to call him a “Forgotten One” he would almost undoubtedly correct them.  And no one who has met Imshael is going to forget him or get that detail wrong.

In fact no one in Thedas’ long history says that the Forbidden Ones are the Forgotten Ones, save one poor bastard about to head off to his untimely death in Kirkwall.  And even then, Brother Kerowen wasn’t sure what all of the information he and the other members of the Band of Three had uncovered meant.  So he is hardly a reliable source.  We need more codices to figure this out; the older (in Thedas time), the better.

“The first of the magus cast themselves deep in the Fade in search of answers and power, always power. They found the forbidden ones – Xebenkeck, Imshael, Gaxkang the Unbound, and The Formless One. Many conversations were had and much of the fabric of the world revealed. And thus the magic of blood was born.” ―Unknown mage

There is some disagreement in Thedas about the source of blood magic.  This codex claims it was the Forbidden Ones who first taught it, and this certainly would have made them all the more alluring to pre-Tevinter mages.  Others say it was the Old God Dumat and still others say it was elves from Elvhenan who taught humans blood magic.  

Point is, mortals know they can learn blood magic from demons like the Forbidden Ones (“Spi...” Shut it, Imshael!), but they may not have been only source of this information, and if there is one thing people like to do it is conflate similar things together to make them easy to understand.  The Forbidden Ones get associated with blood magic and may have been mixed up with the Old Gods who may also have been lumped in with the Forgotten Ones and thus connected to the Elven Pantheon.  Andrastians would look at the elven gods, Forgotten Ones, Titans, etc. and believe they were all demons.  Think Sera when she encounters anything not Andrastian and you have the right idea.   

The potential nuances and subtle differences between these different groups would be lost on most Chantry scholars who would assume they were all are demons.  It stands to reason that the Band of Three could be thinking along those lines as well. I hope, however, that Vahnel (the Dalish apostate in the group) put up a good argument to the contrary!  Dalish lore has a lot of nuance that suggests these groups were not all just demons. I’m starting to agree with Imshael that demons get blamed for everything and that just isn’t always the case in Thedas.  

(BTW - I personally suspect that the Forbidden Ones, the Old Gods, and elves from Elvhenan all played a role in teaching humanity blood magic.  There undoubtedly was enough shit hitting the fan in the 2000 years between the creation of the Veil and the fall of Arlathan to cause more than a few to turn to want to learn blood magic.  The Chant of Light has some very telling passages that make it seem like lots of people at different times turned to blood magic as a source of power.  I’ll be writing about those passages in Threnodies in one of the asks that lead to this post.  Stay tuned!)

Another interesting detail from Imshael’s story from above is his casual mentions of the Maker. Notice his flippant attitude when he talks to his prisoner about their faith.  He is totally toying with his captive, invoking the Maker in a way that, on the surface, sounds like it could be comforting (demon believing in the Maker and all), but it comes across as mocking and faith shaking.  Not what his prisoner needs right before deciding what choice to follow.  There are not many more world shaking things than for a person of faith to have that belief undermined in a moment of crisis.  Xebenkeck may also have been undermining people’s faith in the Maker.  Seems like a theme with them, although I can’t be sure without more info about Gaxkang and the Formless One.  

Why this may be important, however, is whether or not they pulled this same cynical line with the Evanuris.  Imagine being the Evanuris and having, potentially, four extremely powerful demons suggesting to your worshipers that you may not be divine.  That could get sticky really quick and might provide another way of looking at the public service announcement they posted in the Vir Dirthara.   

Think about it.  The Vir Dirthara is basically the public library of Elvhenan and the Evanuris posted this message there prominently enough that it catches the eye of the Inquisitor some 8,000-ish years later!  And it is such Evanuris propaganda! 

Sure, the Forbidden Ones probably did drop their bodies and hauled ass to the deepest, Fade-iest parts of Fade when the going got tough against the Titans (probably, since they went where “the Earth could not reach” and they were “Forbidden from the Earth that is our right”), but this declaration also has the added bonuses of getting rid of some pesky spirits who had been allies of the Elven gods for who knows how long.  Allies who may well have known that the Evanuris were more akin to the elves worshiping them than not.  

By making Imshael and company the Forbidden Ones, the Evanuris were banishing potential threats to their rule while making their followers more dependant on their gods for “protection”.  Perhaps this suspicion was also part of what twisted the Forbidden Ones from their purpose, “perverting” them as Solas would say, and made them appear more demon-y than they may have been before.  Pure speculation, of course, but fun speculation!  

The Forbidden Ones’ banishment from the lands of the Evanuris may also have had the ironic side effect of making them damn near immortal...even for beings that are already basically immortal!  If our lore mining and speculations in the Death in the Fade meta is valid, then it is possible that the Forbidden Ones will be back some day.  If enough humans, elves, qunari, etc. know who the Forbidden Ones are and actively seek them out, then they may reform or be reinvented by other spirits.  (Read that meta if you want to know how it may work.)  

Who knows how many people in Thedas still know who the Forbidden Ones are.  And who knows how many Fell Grimoires still exist to ensure their story endures.  The Evanuris may have given the Forgotten Ones such infamy that they will endure as long as future generations of desperate or despotic Thedosians seek them out in the deepest parts of the Fade.   (“Nothing like labeling something as “Forbidden” to make it all the more irresistible, eh.”)

One final note before we wrap this thing up.  Demons generally don’t do a good job of disguising their nature in the unchanging, physical world.  They can’t.  Their fixation on whatever feeling draws them across the Veil and the difficulty average spirits would have maintaining their forms in the unchanging world means that they typically have to rely on tricks, illusions, or possessing people to hide that they are spirits.  And yet someone as marginally schooled in arcane lore as Michel de Chevin recognized Imshael as a demon (“For the last time: Choice.  Spirit!’) within moments of their meeting, likely because of his Chantry upbringing along with stories from his elven mother.  

If Michel can’t be fooled, how in the Void are elves, especially ancient elves who lived side by side with spirits, going to mistake the Forgotten Ones for gods on par with the Evanuris if they really are spirits like the Forbidden Ones?  (“There, Imshael, are ya happy?!”)  It seems unlikely that they would!  

The Forgotten Ones are something else.

----------------

And yup!  I need to break this post in half, dear followers.  Y’all deserve a break.  Worried about missing Part 2 since we have anything BUT a regular posting schedule here at the Wyrd Sisters?  Please follow us and get our notifications.  You won’t be spammed.  We promise!

Thanks for reading!

-MM

PS - $5 says that Solas was carefully hiding his “true” nature from Imshael in this scene.  If Imshael recognized Felessan after thousands of years, he surely would have known who the Dread Wolf was.  I wonder if Solas’ line here is also a subtle dig at Imshael and company abandoning the Evanuris during a crisis.  I’ve never allowed Imshael to walk away from this encounter, but if I ever do, it will be because I want to see if Solas does about our Choice Spirit.   PSS - 

“They felt no need to rush when life was endless. They worshiped their gods for months at a time. Decisions came after decades of debate, and an introduction could last for years. From time to time, our ancestors would drift into centuries-long slumber, but this was not death, for we know they wandered the Fade in dreams.” (Codex Entry: Arlathan, Part One)

I can just imagine Imshael reading this codex in a monotone with a “blah, blah, blah...boring!” at the end.  Banishment was probably the best thing the Evanuris could have done for the Forbidden Ones, and Imshael in particular.  The elves who sought him out after the ban would have been motivated to make their choices far more efficiently than was the elvhen norm.  Shit.  I need to go read some Imshael fanfiction now.  

“Forbidden” Thoughts (Part ½)

“Forbidden” Lore, “Forgotten” Questions (Part 1)

“Forbidden” Lore, “Forgotten” Questions (Part 2)

[ourcollectivefantasy]

Resignation: A Love Story

((I’m sorry this is so late, it takes place back in August when the stuff in Darkshore and Teldrassil happened!))

I should be in on the front, in Darkshore. Or, rather, if I were were still an officer of the Silvermoon military, I should be at the front, in Darkshore. As of yesterday, when I resigned my commission, I am no longer an officer or any other rank. My earlier misgivings about the Warchief's plans became reality when I saw the orange glow of Teldrassil burning in the distance like a second sunset from where I stood at the camp infirmary. They were similar to the misgivings I had since we've started mining the blood of our bleeding planet immediately after destroying the titanic enemy that has loomed over this world and all races of elves for over 10,000 years. As soon as we stepped off the broken planet of Argus, and the Warchief 's response was to weaponize the injury to our world against the Alliance we had just finished fighting alongside, I knew this would end in tears. There was a small hope that, maybe, Sylvanas would tread a different path than her predecessors, but that hope died along with countless kaldorei citizens. In a way, I suppose it was the logical progression for the Banshee Queen; she has displayed complete apathy for the living since the destruction of Southshore. Why would she suddenly spare a thought for any other living thing, be it our planet or unarmed civilians.

There were a hundred thoughts swimming through my brain, and those thoughts kept me quiet as I stepped out of the castle's double doors and walked towards the carriage house. It was a lovely day; one nice thing about living on the shoreline cliffs of Western Tirisfal was that, even during the hottest part of summer, it was never unbearably hot and the wind was constant. In a moment of nostalgia I recalled how the wind used to screech and wail through the castle hallways before Iloam and I repaired the ruined stone structure and patched the holes in walls and windows. He gifted this castle to me, and for years it was our project - rebuilding and restoring the seaside ruins into something more like a home. Now, it was definitely a home to me, and to my children. I also hoped it was a home to Iloam, but my Prince of Flaws is a traveller to his bones. Home for him will always be people more than places. If there was any part of the castle in particular that Iloam would claim as his home it would be the garage. The doors to the old carriage house were wide open, allowing Iloam’s music to escape and catch on the ocean breeze that also cooled the inside. Walking up to the doorway, I rapped my knuckles on the wood so he heard my approach and could ask me to leave if he was so inclined. That is how you give someone a place of their own; you respect their space and abide by their authority in that space. I like to think he appreciated the small show of respect; indeed, even as I lifted my hand to knock Iloam lifted his head from his motorbike to look towards me and offer a faint smile of greeting. I felt an answering smile tease my lips as I made my way inside towards speakers and amps against one wall. Carefully I climbed up atop one nearest to his workspace and made myself comfortable sitting with criss-crossed legs as the treble and bass of the music thrummed rhythmically under my backside. It brought on a small grin, and I wiggled idly in place, appreciating Iloam setting it up there for me to sit on and enjoy while I came to hang out with him. He knew how I liked the feel of the vibrations on my butt. It was just one of a million little things Iloam did to show me his love. From there I simply sat in my own silence, my gaze following Iloam as he returned to his tinkering. Music filled the empty space more comfortably than idle chatter would. Once I used to feel an almost desperate need to fill that silence with words. For the first couple years of our relationship I had hundreds of questions for him, gently and carefully probing and uncovering him little by little; not just for conversation, but also to still the doubts and anxieties that would threaten to drown me when it grew too quiet. He is not the kind of person who opens up or trusts easily, but neither of us are, really. However, I did enjoy learning about him, and all that same time he too was watching and listening. And now, 8 years later, although I still freely chattered Iloam's ear off often enough, I was quite content with our comfortable silence and just being close to him. Truthfully, I enjoyed just being silent and close to him more that I enjoyed talking and doing anything with anyone else. It was a soothing atmosphere to let my thoughts sink back into current events with the war, the slaughtered of Teldrassil, and my resignation. The music vibrated through me as I thought back to the march through those ancient forests. Rank and privaledge allowed me the option to leave the military at all; many did not have that choice. They would have to continue fighting this Warchief's battles as they have through the years, no matter who that Warchief was. There was a time I was eager to face the Alliance and fight against them. Just a couple years ago really, though it seems ages ago, when my fury over the treatment of our people at the hands of the humans - coupled with thier easy acceptance of the kaldorei who once exiled us - drove me to turn my hand against the enemies of the Horde. Then, Theramore happened. For the past few days I've  been trying to avoid thinking of Theramore, but now my mind shifted fully to it. We'd been fighting in the muggy swamp for weeks, and I was at the edge of Dustwallow when I watched the horrifying dome of the mana bomb grow and consume the city. I knew exactly what it was; I'd been to the Outlands and seen while Kael'thas went mad and attacked so many settlements with that same power. I knew then who had facilitated the destruction of Theramore - Hellscream may have ordered it, but sin'dorei gave him the weapon to do so. The realization filled me with terrible guilt and helpless rage at the position we'd put ourselves. No matter how angry I had been with the Alliance, our grievances did not warrent THIS response. Then, I had lingered in despair for days, and Iloam gave me those few days as space before taking me away for a short holiday to Nagrand. We slept outside and watched the stars and worlds move across the sky, and he held me and quietly comforted me. Iloam didn't naturally empathize with people, and he usually didn't really get why people felt one way or another. But he knew I was in pain, and he immediately decided upon a plan of action to address it. He didn’t get why I cared, I why I despaired, but still he held me as I cried and murmured comforting words to bring my thoughts from drowning in that deep lake of grief. When that happened, I had been close to leaving the Horde army. I ended up staying because I felt our people needed to redeem ourselves. So I was eager to fight alongside Silvermoon forces when we finally rose up against Hellscream and the Korkron. As we defeated them, I felt better about fighting for the Horde, especially when the Legion finally came. There was an enemy that threatened all of life on Azeroth, whether Horde, Alliance, or others. It was the first war since Northrend against the Scourge where I felt our cause was right, and I eagerly coordinated House Akh’Argar's forces and Jericho with the greater Horde army. And then... when the Horde army invaded Darkshore, I was called upon as I've been called for every battle the Horde fights since the Sin'dorei joined it. So many lives lost against the Burning Legion, so many homes destroyed from when thier ships attacked, and instead of healing and rebuilding, we were again being called to war? And not even meaningful war, but an attack on Alliance lands as if we hadn't spent the last year and a half fighting and bleeding at thier sides. I knew the Dark Lady maintained her own grievances against some Alliance leaders, and many of them still blamed us for the death of thier King, but this sudden agression seemed absolute folly. I know my House’s soldiers were exhausted from the war against the Legion. I would not be calling them to fight in these battles in Kalimdor. They would be sent to keep watch on the borders of Quel'thalas for when the Alliance gathered thier completely understandable retaliation. But I was a Silvermoon Officer, and when the Horde armies called, I was duty bound to obey. But even then... I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to see another Theramore. And now Teldrassil burned, and I resigned. What would the nobility of Silvermoon think of me now? What would they think of my House? That was the thing that weighed on me the most. What have my actions done to the reputation of Akh'Argar? Would my own soldiers, the people of my House, have any respect for me now? Or would they see me as a dishonorable coward for leaving just as things began to get really messy on the front. A deep sigh escaped me, lost in the thrum of the bass mechguitar playing through the speakers. My eyes returned to the present, and the sweaty, freckled shoulders hunched and flexing as eight nimble fingers worked at the dirty bike engine. I had no idea what Iloam was doing, what tiny adjustment was required for the machine. As a surgeon, I generally don't futz with things until they actually break, and then I fixed them with the hope of that fix being permanent. I'd learned that tinkering is not exactly the same; sure there were broken things you fixed, but there seemed to be continual adjustments and improvements that you could impliment if you were so inclined. And seeing as Iloam had about four bikes, he had a lot to work with. There was something about being able to observe Iloam like this. He enjoyed having me there with him too, even if we didn't speak or touch. His back was turned on me almost completely, and that was a huge thing in and of itself. Although his own thoughts wandered elsewhere, he was comfortable enough to have his back on me - no, not just comfortable. More than comfortable. He trusted me to watch his back. Another tiny thing; another huge expression of intense love. When I burst into his office at Blacksong Records and announced I was quitting the military, his only response was "Alright." He didn’t ask why, he didn't look at me like a coward ot traitor, he just instantly respected my decision with no change in his regard for me. Today he still was willing to let me watch his back. I thought back to the day he tried to "distract" me when I was still so distant and melancholy weeks after Theramore fell. I was fully overcome with worry and grief, so Iloam decided a fun way to entertain me would be to play hide and seek somewhere in the Azeroth. The twist was that he'd drunk some kind of poison so there was a time limit: I would have to find him before he died. I was so furious with him. After I found him and treated him, I brought him back here to the castle, back before it was fully restored, with the intention of carving my rage into his flesh so he would never again doubt his importance to me. However, Iloam managed to stop me before I even started when he insisted he was never in any real danger, because he had faith in me, that I would find him. It was such a shocking claim, from him of all people, that he believed in me - Iloam, who learned long ago never to believe in anyone. That very thing stayed constantly on my mind, that no matter what was going on, Iloam believed in me and had faith in us. He backed those words up time and again with his actions, with the way he fought his own inclinations and tried in so many ways, large and small, on the basis of that belief. No matter what society and nobility thought of me, no matter what my own House thought, Iloam would always stand with me. He wouldn't disparage me or doubt me. He had faith in me, in us. It was enough - it was everything. As the current song ended and the next song began with its bassy opener, I slid off the amp and walked over to my Prince of Flaws at his sweaty, grungy work. He heard and felt my movement, and paused hid own, one long ear quirked up as he listened for my approach. I leaned down to press my lips against his sweaty, freckled shoulder, and leaned in to speak in his ear so he would hear over the music, "I love you. Thank you for always believing in me." Then I nipped his earlobe a bit. You know. Just because.

[dalishious]

minassalin replied to your post “I wonder if anyone in the Dragon Age fandom will ever crack the Elvhen...”

I think it's actually just conlang with no cipher. Fenxshiral has a project on Ao3 with the best anyone has come up with so far

It was confirmed to be a cipher by Gaider. “You are correct that elvehn is a cipher. we keep it simple so we can all use it, and I've no doubt that makes it look pretty silly to anyone with linguistics knowledge.”

I am also aware of the project and I did read it in the past, but I no longer do as I no longer support it, due to a number of issues. Mostly his homophobia and insisting that Dalish women must all have kids.

I’ve said it before; there is stronger evidence to suggest that the Dalish would be in fact more progressive than other peoples in Thedas when it comes to LGBT+ diversity. Not against. As an in-lore perspective and stemming from the fact that their coding/confirmed inspirations from various Aboriginal Peoples, who, BTW, many of which traditionally had very open minds concerning sexuality and gender. (Including my people. Just saying.) But a lot of this was erased from history by the colonizers who where all “PRAIZE BE TO JEZUZ AND UH WE’RE RIGHT YOU’RE WRONG!” People continue to uncover evidence to support this more and more.

This ask right here is so full of inaccuracy and grossness it’s on a baffling level, for example. 

“There would be very few clans that completely welcome homosexuality to the point of allowing them to fully engage in it, to the exclusion of marriage and procreation. Procreation would just be of too paramount important for most clans to consider allowing it in such an extent.

Therefore, any homosexual who didn’t agree to get married and have children would be considered a pariah in many clans. The clan would view it as putting your own personal desires ahead of the well-being of the clan as a whole. It would be unlikely that the clan would kick them out of the clan (as they need everybody they can get), but they would most likely shun the person in question, even if just subtly.”

Because you know, LGBT+ people totally can’t have kids! //Sarcasm

And on top of all this, Patrick Weekes discredited it himself. Well, partly.

He says that the Dalish would “frown upon refusing to make kids, but language comes from ancient elves, pre-Dalish.” There is nothing on the Dalish having anything against LGBT+ folks, though. Instead, we have a codex ‘Sexuality in Thedas’ that says the only real places with homophobia is among nobles in Tevinter, and a Sera/Lavellan wedding.

He also purposely wrote his language to be ace/arophobic, and claims it is because the language is too “poetic” for ace/aro people to get because he’s under the impression that ace/aro people are incapable of feeling love.

But listen, this is all just reiterating some of what @swevani wrote here. Please read that post if you want to know even more.

Anyway, TL;DR: He’s super fucking white and assumes all cultures have the same history of homophobia as him, and it’s garbage.